I understand why the Japanese are so obsessed with the seasons here - because they are so god damned beautiful and definite. The past weeks have been a riot of glorious death in red and gold.
I'm accustomed to a slow ease into frost and thermal underware. Perhaps it feels easier in warmer climes because there isn't a far distance to crawl into winter. Here, it is only Autumn and already I am at my chill limit.
The sun sets by five, which makes me sad. I enjoy my new job, but have begun to resent the brief hours of sun spent indoors.
The trees that line the street outside my school are now bare. That makes me sad, too. I enjoyed kicking through their fallen leaves as I trotted to my bus stop.
When I first arrived, I didn't understand how anyone could get fat here, especially if you don't have a car. The walking you have to do each day alone should keep you trim. But as I had to do a vertical limbo around a plump, sour-faced high school girl I sighed at how easy it is to drown yourself in a swimming pool of cream donuts (or ramen, should you decide to go the more traditional route). I have myself developed an obsession with white bread - a food I had almost completely shunned in my former life. Bread here is pretty shit, and yet I spend hours fantasizing about inhaling a loaf of squishy, gooey, chewy wheat Heaven. It's become my porn.
